Dane brooded over this, then said, “What about the NTSB report?”
“We have had difficulty there, sir, but one of our associates is saying that they have found evidence of sabotage.”
“Surprise, surprise,” Dane said, yawning delicately. “By whom?”
“Person or persons unknown. They do not, of course, pursue criminal investigations. That is left to law enforcement. In this instance, to Las Piernas.”
Dane watched the swans for a time, then said, “Have you made any progress on the other matter?”
“The court cases and police files will be given to me tonight. I’ll study them in depth this evening. It will take another day to get the district attorney’s files.”
“And you have prepared information for me about Detective Harriman?”
“Yes, sir. When would you like that report?”
“Oh, tomorrow will be soon enough. Bring it to me after you return from your assignment. Now, tell me who you have for me this evening.”
“Tessa is here, sir, as you requested. She has already dined, also as you requested.”
“Yes, she’s lovely in bed, but I can’t stand to listen to her talk. Probably what drove Trent Randolph to leave her. You know, although Tessa would have been an invaluable asset to us if she had been married to the man, I’m really glad that she wasn’t able to snare him after all, aren’t you? I just don’t think Trent was the sort of fellow who’d share his wife with me.”
21
Tuesday, July 11, 9:25 P.M.
Las Piernas State University
Frank waited in the hall outside a faculty office in one of the engineering buildings. He idly studied posters and displays that were by and large beyond his comprehension, listening to the drone of a professor’s voice in a nearby classroom. He shifted the cardboard box he was carrying — a little wider and shallower than a shoebox — to the other arm.
Dr. Ray Wilkes had left a message on his voice mail, saying that he was leaving Wednesday afternoon for an out-of-state conference, but if Frank needed to talk to him before he returned next Monday, he could come by the university this evening. “I teach a summer session extension course tonight; we’ll finish up at about nine-thirty.”
Frank had heard the message after a depressing visit to Bredloe. The captain’s bruises were showing more vividly now, worsening his appearance. And Miriam, past the initial shock and reassured that he would survive, was more fearful about the long-term effects of his injuries.
When he had heard Wilkes’s message, he thought of the chief’s sarcastic remarks and briefly considered calling the professor to tell him that he appreciated the offer of help, but that things had changed and he was no longer pursuing that line of investigation. Instead, he stopped by the lab and talked a night-shift tech into letting him sign out the paper airplane.
He had also called Yvette Nereault. Unlike the day before this time, she had answered the phone. He told her what he had learned from the NTSB and asked her to please not discuss it with anyone outside the family.
“It’s a great injustice,” she said. “Not to me, but to Philippe. I am amazed that you worry that anyone would care about anything I might say. For ten years, we who loved him have been saying that Philippe was murdered. No one listened to us in all that time, so I don’t know why they should start listening now.”
“Because now there is proof. I won’t lie to you — my chief thinks your brother was killed by the people who supposedly paid him off.”
“But you don’t, do you?” she said. “You’ll forgive me if I sound astonished, Detective Harriman, but you see, this is something new to me — a member of that department who has not condemned Philippe out of hand. So — if you continue to work to clear Philippe’s name, I will keep quiet.”
He had gone home, fed the dogs, and taken them for a run. He watched part of Polly Logan’s tape before heading out to the university. Without her commentary, he got a better feel for Lefebvre.
Students began filing out of the classroom, and soon he heard other groups of them coming down the stairs at the far end of the hall. He saw an elderly gentleman in a three-piece suit and bow tie step out of the classroom. He carried a large valise. The man walked toward Frank, peering over a pair of half-glasses as he approached.
“Professor Wilkes?” Frank asked.
The man’s lips pursed and he shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. I’m Professor Frost. Can I help you?”
“Thanks, but no — I have an appointment with Dr. Wilkes.”
“Then I can only hope you believe that patience is a virtue, young man, because my esteemed colleague will undoubtedly be late for it.” He continued to stroll down the hall.
The building began to empty out. Soon it grew quiet again. Frank found a plastic chair that someone had left in the hallway and dragged it down to the professor’s door. He sat down and looked at his watch — nine forty-five. Folding his arms around the box, he leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.
He awoke with a start when he heard another group of students coming down the stairs. He still had the box and opened it to see that the plane had not somehow been removed. He checked his watch again and saw that he had dozed off for only about ten minutes. He stood up and stretched, watching as the students — four men and two women — walked toward him. The young men were all dressed in a similar way, wearing sports coats over colorful shirts, and carrying backpacks. The clear leader of this group seemed to be a little older than the others, a grad student perhaps. He had the complete attention of his peers, although Frank couldn’t make out what he was saying. He apparently made a joke that was a hit, though, because they suddenly broke into laughter. As they came closer, the leader seemed to notice Frank for the first time. He suddenly looked chagrined and said, “Detective Harriman? I’m so sorry!” He hurried forward and extended a hand. “Ray Wilkes. Forgive me, I lost track of time.”
“He didn’t lose track of time,” one of the female students said. “He doesn’t recognize the fourth dimension.”
Wilkes sighed dramatically. “Wounded again, Jill. Now, you’ll all have to excuse me. Detective Harriman has been waiting for me for half an hour.”
“You’re with the police?” Jill asked Frank.
“He’s not in trouble, is he?” one of the young men asked at nearly the same time.
“Yes, he’s with the police,” Wilkes said, unlocking his office door. “No, I am not in trouble — and yes, we’d like some privacy.” He smiled. “Scram.”
They invited him to join them at the on-campus beer bar when he finished, invited Frank, too. Wilkes took a rain check, reminding them that he still needed to pack for the conference. Finally, after a prolonged chorus of “Bon voyage,” “Are you sure you don’t need a ride to the airport?” and “Good night, Dr. Wilkes,” they left.
“I apologize again,” Wilkes said to Frank, inviting him to take a seat in the tiny but neatly organized office. “Now, how can I help you?”
“I need your expertise on a matter concerning an open case, but I have to ask that this matter remain absolutely confidential.”
“Certainly, I understand — otherwise your investigation may suffer. I promise I won’t discuss this with anyone else.”
Frank hesitated, then said, “Ben said you’re the organizer of the paper airplane contest on campus — is that true?”
Wilkes was openly surprised. “Yes. It’s one of the School of Engineering’s contributions to the university’s Spring Festival. Mercury Aircraft gives cash prizes to the winners. It’s also an assignment in some courses.”
“So it isn’t just for fun?”
“Oh, no. I mean to say, it’s fun, but there is a lot more to it than that. A paper airplane contest is a great way to teach the students about aerodynamics — lift and drag, the effect of thermals, stabilizer and wing design — and much more. For many of them, it’s the first time they’ve designed something as part of a team. Coming up with an original design is always harder than they imagine it will be.”